


i promise you (it will all make sense again)

by MyShameMachine



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Memory Related, POV Second Person, Sad, Time Travel, past trauma, there's nothing specific though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 20:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20234065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyShameMachine/pseuds/MyShameMachine
Summary: This is based off a writing blog's prompt "You can travel in time, but each time you lose a memory, the bigger the leap, the 'bigger' the memory lost." Or something very similar- I haven't been able to find it again. If any of you do find it, I'll link it in the summary.





	i promise you (it will all make sense again)

"Is it gone?" You ask, running your fingers through his hair.

"No," he whispers, choked, against your shoulder. You sigh, dropping your petticoats into the murk. 300 years. You had hoped- well, that wasn't the important thing now.

"Come on. Let's get us a place to stay." You offer him your hand, and he takes it. He is still so full of faith towards you, even though this is the seventh time you've failed him in as many days.

Someday, you dream, you will ask him, "Is it gone?", and he will say, "Is what gone?" And you will feel alive again. But for now, you walk through town quietly, behind him, as if he is the one in power right now. Women do not hold power here, though you imagine many of them are powerful, and yearn for a day to show that.

You enter an inn, the most respectable one can find in this time, pressing the required amount of coin into his palm. He doesn't look at you, because that would draw their attention, but he clasps your hand briefly before letting you go. You'll fix things for him. You will.

You go upstairs, pulling a journal from a hollow petticoat, and you chronicle the day. As always, you flicker through the pages, wondering what you're missing. You'll figure it out, all that you've dropped willingly like seashells into the unforgiving ocean of time, once you're done. Once you've helped him.

All of your early life, and his too, is drawn in a series of shaking videos. A cartography of innocence. Those, you do not have. You keep those in a box of his baby things 300 years from now. You'll return there, one day, and he will be laughing again, because he won't remember what hurt him anymore. You'll both be free.

You look in on him, at night. Your kind do not dream, which you used to be angry about. Now, it's a blessing you are unbearably grateful for. At least he can sleep.

You shuffle back to your bed as well. You need to sleep, if you're going to jump again in the morning.

Of course, you do not dream. You awaken quickly, as you do so often these days. He is already there, packed up. You see the circles under his eyes, and you reach a hand forth, hesitant, to comfort him. He is tense beneath your hand, and he does not move.

"I can't jump again, not yet," You whisper, and he exhales. He knows this.

Neither of you go out again, not until nightfall when you can jump again.

You guide him back into the alleyway, making sure none but the moon see you. She gazes at you with an open face, and you hope it is a good omen. With a breath, you jump and are gone.

You are far into the future now, many years from any time you've been in. You stand on a cement street, cracked, broken, and abandoned. It is raining, and you wish you had thought to change out of your petticoats. You look at him, rain (or perhaps tears), dripping down his face.

"I haven't forgotten," he says, and you look into the sky at a gibbous moon. Idly, you wonder if it's waxing or waning.

"We'll try again tomorrow," you whisper back.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hope you enjoyed this! Sorry for not writing recently, I've been busy. Hopefully I can write again soon, but just enjoy this for now.
> 
> Title is from "Secret for the Mad" by Dodie.


End file.
